


going up in smoke

by subjunctive



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, F/M, Frottage, Lab Sex, Loki Has Issues, Magic and Science, Outdoor Sex, Pool Sex, Scars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:42:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subjunctive/pseuds/subjunctive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two months since the Casket had been stolen, since his deception was uncovered, since he had been cast out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scars

**Author's Note:**

> I made my own [30 days of OTP smut challenge](http://subjunctivemood.tumblr.com/post/111135642328/30-days-of-smut-otp-challenge) list. This story is for the prompt "scars." I was going to put them all in a single collection of ficlets, but then I realized I wanted to do multiple series of ficlets. Subsequent chapters will be for different prompts; other tags to be added. There might end up being more than five chapters, not sure yet.

"That doesn't make any sense!"

In the face of her stubbornness, Loki gritted his teeth. "It makes perfect sense, _if_ you have the intellectual capacity and conceptual framework to understand it."

Jane Foster's eyes flashed at him, a warning of danger that he found himself sidling ever closer to with a little thrill. She was such a small thing, defenseless really, and she had the temerity to grapple with ideas much larger than her.

Also, she turned the most appealing shade of pink when she was angry.

"Are you saying I'm stupid?" she demanded, putting her hands on her hips. Her shirt rode up on one side, exposing a strip of brown skin. He did not inform her that the marker she was clutching in one hand was staining her clothing.

Loki waved a hand. "I'm wounded that you consider me so uncouth. If I were to cast aspersions on your intelligence, surely I would do so with more wit and subtlety, don't you think? No, I am merely stating limitations." Limitations he himself had ensured when he shared his knowledge with her—but she didn't know that.

She jabbed in his direction with the marker several times with growing frustration, as if she could not find the words to reply. It was a reaction Loki could admit he enjoyed inducing in others.

Jane whirled around to stare at the board again, which was covered in a messy scrawl of symbols Loki did not understand, and did not need to, although he had grown familiar with their look over the last two months.

Two months wasted on Midgard. He did not quite hold in a scowl. Two months since the Casket had been stolen, since his deception was uncovered, since he had been cast out.

 _It wouldn't be the first time,_ said a treacherous whisper in the back of his mind. He wanted to banish it, but found once again that he could not keep himself from thinking of those last conversations he'd had with his f—with Odin, the awful news of his true heritage, Odin's anger, Thor's look of betrayal at his actions and his own subsequent eruption, the rage that he had not been able to keep in check. He swallowed at the memory.

His mind turned to the object, the source of his rage: Thor. He was likely king now, or would be soon, if the rumors of approaching Odinsleep were true.

Loki would never have been chosen to succeed Odin. He knew that now. And for good reason. He found himself rubbing his left wrist—he could nearly feel the itch of that hideous blueness crawling down his arm—and dropped it immediately.

"Okay!" Jane's voice cut through the swamp of his ruminations.

Loki took the distraction. It was only convenient that it was a good opportunity to needle her as well. "Oh? Have you figured it out, finally?" He knew she had not, would not if he had anything to do about it.

She blew out a hard breath through her nose, slapping the marker down. Loki knew it was going to roll off the surface and hide under some piece of furniture or stack of papers; if he did not know better, he would say that the lab and trailer were afflicted with some void curse that stole small objects. And occasionally larger ones.

"No. Not yet. But I will." Her voice was full of optimism, promise, boundless faith. He found himself jealous.

"What we're going to do," added Jane, turning on him with a smile, "is try a trick I learned in grad school."

"A trick? Do tell."

She turned the whiteboard around on its stand, so that the back showed, and then went to open the small cooling appliance in the corner. "Sometimes, looking at a problem too long holds you back. You can't see it anymore, not for what it is: you just see _the problem_. You need to find a new way of looking at it."

The corner of Loki's mouth curled up as he spied the bottle she'd retrieved and held up triumphantly. "And that new way of looking at it . . . involves alcohol?"

"Involves doing other things," she corrected, still smiling. "I'm not going to think about Einstein-Rosen bridges at all, for the rest of the night. But when morning comes . . ."

He allowed both skepticism and indulgence bleed into his tone. "Ah. A fresh insight may dawn on you. Very clever. I suppose it's only coincidence that you have fun in the process."

Uncorking the bottle, her smile turned into a grin. "Now you've got it. Grab a couple glasses from the shelf."

She poured for them both as he waited. "Now you," she said, handing him one of the glasses, "have a very serious job while we're working."

"I'm to work while you lay about?" He tsked at the injustice.

Jane tipped her glass against his so that they clinked together. There was something bright in her eyes as she looked up at him. "You have to keep me from thinking about work, obviously. You know I'm going to be tempted." One of her fingers uncurled from her glass to point at him, as though that was his fault.

"What stimulating work you've concocted for me, Dr. Foster."

"It's a serious mission, should you choose to accept it," she intoned.

"I do," he said with mock gravity, laying a hand over his heart. "On my honor." 

"Well, there's nothing to do in Puente Antiguo, so I guess we'll have to stay here," she said softly. He watched as she took a sip and swallowed, her eyes closing briefly.

For the next two hours she showed him card tricks—performed poorly, in his estimation, but he refrained from telling her his assessment, though he could not resist employing a little sleight of hand himself and grinning at her resulting pout at being foiled—as the sky outside darkened from dusk to twilight, on the floor of her lab. Loki only needed to watch a few before he intuited the general rules Midgardians seemed to play by, and then swiped the cards from her and began creating his own tricks for her amusement. The faces and symbols on the cards were different than the ones he was used to, but card games were much the same everywhere. He watched for her smile and listened for her laugh.

The wine, thin though it was, worked more quickly than he expected, and they were soon leaning against the couch together and playing in their laps, cards balanced in varying degrees of steadiness against their thighs. There was only one light in the lab, which was mostly lit by south-facing windows, and it was not enough to entirely ward off the encroaching darkness.

"I didn't even see you steal that one!" she exclaimed in righteous indignation at his third win. He dealt them another hand. "Don't hold out on me, I need to know all your tricks, Loki, come on."

 _Not all of them,_ he thought, and it was a little sobering. She trusted him, had put him up and given him a home, or something like one, anyway. Because she needed him to help her complete her life's work, he reminded himself. She was, like him, not an unselfish creature.

His own goals were . . . murkier. Sometimes he found himself helping her, inspired by her insatiable drive for knowledge. More often the speed at which she worked, drawing conclusions from his insights and math from his poetry, terrified him. She was hurtling toward—somewhere he was not sure he wanted to go. Not yet. It was only the wine, he knew, that allowed these thoughts to rise to the surface of his mind.

"You're awfully quiet." Her voice had gone soft, and her shoulder was pressing into his. It was not unpleasant. She swiped a card from his knee, not subtly. He let her, regardless.

"Merely considering how I might best proceed to victory." He turned to look at her with significance, drawing her eyes to his. It was the opportunity he needed to pinch two cards from where they rested, with only the lightest of touches. Her eyes were warm and guileless; for a moment the look stretched out longer than it needed to, and there was something anticipatory in that moment, something—he did not know what. 

So he broke away, and Jane looked back down at her lap—and squawked. "You did not!"

"I believe I did." He laid out his hand in front of them with a victorious flourish. When he withdrew his hand, his knuckles brushed against her bare knee. It was an innocent, accidental touch, though not one he would have allowed had he been fully sober. He heard her breath hitch in surprise and stole a glance out of the corner of his eye. She was . . . pink again, though he was inclined to attribute it to the wine.

"Cheater," Jane grumbled, though her voice was slightly breathy. She tossed back the last of her wine, letting her head fall against the cushion for a moment.

"So I've been told," said Loki lightly. She rolled her eyes and swatted at him before rising, bracing herself against his shoulder. As she moved she nearly stumbled over his knee, and he allowed his hand to cup the back of her thigh, just to steady her, he told himself, only for a moment, no more. Her skin was warm under his palm.

She froze like an animal that had been spotted, her hair falling over her shoulder in a curtain. She was blocking the light; her face was all in shadow as she looked down at him with wide eyes. "Loki?"

Too late he realized he'd let his hand linger on her too long. He wet his lips and drew his arm away, injecting as much casualness into the gesture as possible. He wanted to look away but wouldn't allow himself. "My apologies," he forced himself to say.

Was the look that flashed across her face disappointment, before it disappeared? He realized he couldn't tell. With a sickened jolt he recognized his own reaction, which was worse, far worse— _he_ was disappointed. A desire had taken up residence in him, and without his notice.

Her lips were parted. She was still staring at him.

Then she remembered herself and pulled away from him, quickly enough to arouse his bitterness. He disguised it when she asked him if he wanted more wine: he did not, and she took the last. But as she sat next to him again—this time more gingerly, seeming careful not to touch him, he noted—the wine went unconsumed. Instead, she pulled her knees up to her chest and regarded him carefully. Oddly, she was smiling a little.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Ask whatever question you like."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Are you going to answer it?"

"I suppose that depends on the question." Loki's hands wanted desperately to fidget, but he had broken himself of those tics long ago. His control would not be stripped away from him now.

Jane looked at his mouth; her gaze was steady. She half-turned to face him. A fingertip rose to touch the corner of his lips, gently. He did not move away, too shocked. "Is this a scar?" she murmured. Then her eyes darted up to his.

"Sorry, I—I spoiled the mood, didn't I," she said, sounding embarrassed. Her finger withdrew. "I just—you never talk about yourself. Not much, at least."

Loki ran a hand over his mouth, rubbing at the memory of her touch. Normally he wove an illusion over those particular scars—but he could not now. They were subtle still, so he thought they had gone unnoticed. Apparently not. "Curious about my wounds, Jane Foster?" 

She flushed at his tone, too pointed to be really friendly. "You haven't said much about your past—refuse to, actually, it seems like, and don't think I haven't noticed the way you don't answer my questions directly—but sometimes you say things that make me think . . . you've had a long life. You must have seen all kinds of things. Had all kinds of his experiences."

Her voice was earnest, if defensive. She was curious: a trait equal parts endearing and maddening. That curiosity would turn to pity or disgust, he knew, if he told her the story of his mouth being sewn shut. Perhaps there would come a day when he would want to turn her away; today was not that day.

No, he did not want her pity. He wanted to see something else in her expression, in her eyes, as she looked at him.

"I have many scars," he said instead, and watched her interest be piqued. "Would you like to see them?"

"Sure," she breathed, sitting up straighter.

He turned his back to her and reached over his shoulder to pull the hem of his black shirt up and nearly off. For a long moment she was silent, and he itched for the sound of her voice to fill the silence. "There. Is your curiosity—"

Jane's fingers trailed along his back, felling his voice in a stroke. It was a light touch, but he was profoundly aware of it. Her fingertips pressed into the area just left of his shoulder blade.

"I was stabbed there," he said over his shoulder.

"With a _sword?_ " she said, sounding half-confused and half-amazed. She traced the contours of the old wound. "That's so . . . old-fashioned."

Her nails rasped against his spine, drawing a shudder from him. If she noticed the movement, she didn't respond to it. Where her touch had been instinctive and unstudied, now it was cautious and deliberate. Her palm flattened against his lower back where he knew there was a mess of white scar tissue.

"Acid," he said before she could ask.

"Jesus." The curse meant nothing to him, but he relished her tone of wonder. Her fingers curled around his side and squeezed. The whole world had narrowed down to the two of them: Loki was not aware of anything in the lab, anything besides her presence at his back, her closeness and warmth.

"You should see the monster," he quipped, not realizing the irony of his words until they were out of his mouth. His hands flexed in his lap, tendons white against the skin. She knew nothing about him. He did not know what she wanted from him at this moment—he could guess, or hope, or cynically expect her indifference, but until he did something he wouldn't _know_ , one way or the other, and the need to know was burning through him. He pulled the shirt the rest of the way off.

Jane didn't move away. Seemed to move closer, in fact. Her hand drifted up to his neck, playing with a few strands of hair. "Your hair's all messed up." She sounded both pleased and shy.

The back of his neck prickled with goosebumps. He caught her wrist in his hand to stop her, but didn't let go once she had.

"Will you turn around again?" she whispered.

He licked his lips and did as she bade.

"No battle scars here, I'm afraid," she confided, and then she was _right there_ , sliding a thigh across him and straddling him. He found himself with a lapful of astrophysicist. "Unless you count the chicken pox as a battle." She steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders, then let them slip down his chest. He let all his breath out and felt her shiver.

"No?" he murmured. His fingers traced the hem of her shorts restlessly. "But you are a scholar, not a warrior. It is only to be expected."

Tentatively she kissed the corner of his mouth where she had touched him earlier. Her breath was hot and damp. "Is that what you are? A warrior?"

He had told her so little.

She did not know he was a prince, and she wanted him still. (She did not know he was a false prince and frost giant, and she wanted him yet.) Her body moved against his, soft and warm and insistent. In truth, when it came to satisfying certain urges, he preferred the brothel to the tavern, transactional relations being so much simpler and less fraught. But he was weak, so weak, and she was willing—more than willing, eager even, though he could not fathom the source of her desire. She was his one ally in all the realms, realms which seemed to have forgotten him entirely. What could it hurt? To have this one thing?

Instead of answering, he pulled her closer to him and kissed her properly, watched her eyes flutter closed. Her small breasts pressed against his chest as she took a breath against his mouth. Her hands searched him out, roamed and explored, mapped the contours of his body until they were both shaking with anticipation. Her bare skin seemed paler in the half-dark.

Jane showed him how to touch her, what she enjoyed, her frankness smoothing down the cracks and difficulties between new partners. He found she liked it when he cupped her ass, squeezing and massaging with firm hands until her legs fell further open and she tilted her hips up against him. When he thought she was ready he eased two fingers into her passage, listening to her gasp, and found her slick and tight. 

"Yes, please, now," she said, a whimper in her words, but she didn't pull away, instead pushing down on his hand to the knuckle—riding his fingers, he realized in a heady rush when she rose again, she was so much heat around him and he imagined being lost in it, and oh yes, in a moment of startling clarity he knew exactly what he wanted.

"Like this," he whispered into her neck, and she nodded in a daze. It was only another moment before she was taking him in hand and sinking down on him. His gasp was lost in her moan. He buried his face in her hair as she moved and wondered, with a shiver of pleasure, if she might ride him until he forgot his own name.

She did.

Afterward, they lay on the floor of the lab, sweat cooling on their skin, and she curled up to him, one hand on his chest.

"I meant it," she said quietly, breaking the spell of easy silence to remind him where they were, who they were. Who _he_ was.

He stared up at the ceiling. "Meant what?"

"I _am_ going to figure it out." Even sated, her voice rang with a note of obstinacy. "I said I would get you home, and I will."

"I do not doubt you." It was almost even not a lie. He toyed with the ends of her hair and wondered what words would temper her dedication and drive. "But I suppose my stay has been . . . not entirely unpleasant."


	2. Outdoors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "outdoors."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I accidentally fluff?

Isabela seemed to sense something the next time they patronized the diner, looking between them suspiciously. It had only been a week since she had begun sharing his bed—or perhaps it was the other way around, he reflected, illustrating his loss of station—but something between them had . . . shifted. Thankfully Isabela said nothing about it. "The usual?"

"Please, Izzy." Leaning on her elbows, Jane tried and failed to cover a yawn with both her hands. It had been a late night of work, and she was determined to carry it on.

Mugs of coffee were at their elbows in seconds. Loki doused his in cream and sugar to drown out the flavor while Jane blew at hers, which she took without augmentation. A stack of printouts lay between them; she doodled mathematical symbols in the margins of her notepad, clearly thinking about something else. Her mind always seemed to be buzzing about something.

"The readings show the phenomenon happening again. The one I saw before you . . ." Her voice hushed, and she looked at him meaningfully. "Arrived."

"These are not the same readings as when I . . .?"

She chewed her lip, the pencil tapping against the table. "Not exactly. The wave function is different, see—" Here she descended into an explanation that passed over his head. His frustration grew as he failed to comprehend the significance of what she was saying. Meanwhile their food arrived.

Jane ignored her pancakes. "So I was thinking, is there anything else that bridge of yours does? Maybe things that are similar, hence the similar readings?" she hazarded.

He had told her of the bridge between their realms, though of little else. He preferred to keep his knowledge in reserve, parceling it out in small, carefully considered pieces. "It's a bridge. I do believe that is all."

She huffed, her eyes meeting his with disappointment, as if he had failed her. Something itched under his skin.

"Of course, perhaps the bridge is going other places."

For once, Jane's hands were perfectly still on top of the table. "Other places? You mean other . . . realms?" she hissed. "There are other realms? But you haven't said anything like that!"

"Haven't I?" Loki cut off a piece of sausage.

"I would have remembered that!" She sounded outraged. Her gaze fell to the table, attention caught by her calculations, and her anger faded, though the crease in her brow did not. "That would explain . . ." she whispered, eyes roving the page. "They're horizontal, but yours was vertical. That's it!"

"Horizontal?"

She waved him away. "It's just a metaphor. These readings—we must be catching glimpses of Asgard opening its wormhole to other realms. That was what caught my attention in the first place. And then you!"

Her smile was one of delight and excitement, her anger now wholly faded, and it was all aimed at him. _For_ him. Her hand reached across the table to squeeze his forearm, an action she might not have initiated the week before.

His pleasure at her response was cut off by Isabela's throat-clearing. "Your check," she said pointedly, laying it facedown on the edge of the table.

Jane smiled up at her, unabashed. "Thanks, Izzy."

"No problem. And no rush." She gave Loki a look before leaving. It was not unpleasant, exactly, but it was watchful.

Jane leaned across the table, closer to him. "How many other realms are there?"

He could not resist giving her another taste. "Nine."

Her mouth opened and rounded in an "o." "I wonder what's going on. It looks like there's been a lot of travel lately."

It was so. If the readings from her machines were correct, there had been several trips between Asgard and other realms over the last nine weeks. The knowledge was like a bucket of cold water over his head. He had been sent here, and then—nothing. No word. No sign of life. He had been utterly alone, had even half-convinced himself that contact was impossible. Now he learned that the activities of Asgard had simply—gone on, like usual. Meetings with diplomats and treaty negotiations and traveling parties and all the normal stuff of living. If he had been asked before, he would have said of course that was the case; but he had never thought of it, and so it was extremely unpleasant to realize.

It was as if he had never been there. As if he had never mattered at all. Perhaps Odin had simply declared the runt frost giant a failed experiment and washed his hands of the whole ordeal.

"Loki?" The uncertainty in Jane's voice pierced his thoughts. Her fingers shifted down to squeeze his hand.

He realized his hands were shaking.

"Are you okay?"

Loki slipped his hands away from hers with as much grace and nonchalance as he could manage. "Are you ever going to break your fast? I've been waiting on you, and this is dreadfully boring." His voice was cool.

"I . . ." She trailed off, looking at him with confusion and hurt. "What?"

An irrational guilt bit at him. Hateful feeling. He couldn't stand it. "I'll be outside," he muttered, ignoring Isabela's look on the way out.

* * *

To his further consternation, Jane ignored him for the rest of the day. Much of her time was spent absorbed in her work, but on the occasion she did deign to notice him she was stiff and wary, as if anticipating that any wrong move might set him off. It made him grind his teeth. It made him _want_ to be worse than he was. To escape her poor treatment, Loki pretended to read one of her books—he was nearly through them all now—and contemplated, not for the first time, where he might go instead of Puente Antiguo.

This was no place befitting a prince. (False prince.) A man of his station, then. The town was dingy and dumpy and forgotten, a small outpost in the middle of nowhere. Slowly dying off. Perhaps he would die with it. Perhaps all of Midgard was similarly drab and dreary. Eventually he retired to the trailer.

During her workday, Jane often took a break for some hours—she drove off that day in the afternoon, he knew not where—and then returned to work in the evening, calling herself a night owl. Tonight was no exception: the light was on in the lab until late that evening, so late that he gave up all notion of her returning to bed with him. Loki threw the book across the room. The resulting thump was only a little satisfying. He lay back in her bed and closed his eyes.

Sometime later, it must have been, her entrance woke him from a drowse.

"Loki?" she called out, and he jerked awake, cursing. Denim was singularly uncomfortable to sleep in. And sweat in.

"Oops," she said, sounding only half-repentant as she flicked on the light. "Did I wake you?"

"No."

"Mmhmm," she said, clearly disbelieving. "Hey, listen. Today sucked, and the heat got to everyone."

She was giving him an out. He bristled at the implication he would need one.

" _So,_ " she said, drawing out the syllable, "I thought we could do something fun."

"Are you suggesting that arguing over equations in a blisteringly hot laboratory is not fun?"

Jane tossed something at him. Fabric; he caught it. " _You_ were the one arguing, mister."

He declined to indulge her game of blaming him. "And what is this?"

"Swim trunks. I got a swimsuit for me too earlier. Had to guess on the size for you, but I think I was right." Jane eyed his figure dubiously.

"I didn't realize there were any rivers or swimming holes in the desert." Loki held the swim trunks aloft, trying to divine their design.

"There aren't." She smiled mysteriously, in a way that made him instantly suspicious. "We have community pools instead."

That didn't sound so strange.

Oh, how wrong he was.

"This is your watering hole?" he demanded when they arrived. "This is _awful_."

It was full dark, the early hours of the morning, and the moon and stars shone brightly down on a decrepit, crumbling brick building and a flimsy metal fence surrounding a sea of concrete.

"I told you it was a public pool." Jane sounded amused.

"You have some strange notions of what it means to have fun. I would hardly even call this a pool at all." It was true: this was the tiniest pool he'd ever seen, not much larger than a _well_.

"Yeah, yeah." She pushed one of the corners of the fence free to reveal an opening that was perhaps, _perhaps_ large enough for one person to crawl through. He had his doubts, personally. "Well?"

"Are we going to get caught?"

Her grin flashed pearly-white in the dark. "I have it on good authority the motion sensor is still dead 'cause there's no money to fix it. Judging by how we haven't been caught yet, that seems to be the case."

"How disappointing."

It turned out to be entirely possible to cross over, if one was willing to lose a little dignity in the process, and Loki had much experience sneaking his way into places where he didn't belong. Once they were on the other side, Jane began stripping. Underneath her shirt and shorts were—a few scraps of fabric, not unlike the underwear she wore, but more colorful. She adjusted the straps, and he took a moment to watch her small, high breasts move underneath in the moonlight.

"Well?" Expectantly she looked over, brushing her hair over her shoulder, and paused.

He'd been caught staring, and they both knew it. A moment of silence, and then: "You know, in Asgard we swim without any covering at all," he said in his silkiest tones. "I'm disappointed."

There was a breathless surprise in her answering laugh. She glanced at the ground. "Is that so?"

Stealing to the lip of the pool, she dipped in a toe. Apparently satisfied, she perched herself on the edge and let her feet swing into the water with a shiver and sigh. Loki followed suit. The water was cool, though in the early morn the heat was not so unbearable.

"Is this how Midgardians swim?"

Even without looking over, he could hear her roll her eyes. "No, Loki. But thanks for ruining the nice moment. The nice, _quiet_ moment."

"My pleasure, as always."

Staring at the water, Jane teetered on the edge for a moment, as if she were on the verge of making a decision; then she pushed forward and slipped into the water, all the way over her head.

It was a moment before she surfaced, the water sheeting down around her. She wiped at her eyes and held on to the edge of the pool. "You should come in," she said, a little breathless.

Loki demurred. "Oh, I'm quite enjoying the view from up here."

"Okay," she said with a shrug, almost too quickly for his comfort. Then she lifted her legs so her feet were pressed to the wall and pushed away – but not before grabbing hold of his wrist with both hands.

Caught by surprise, he fell in with a splash after her, face-first. _Little fox_ , he thought, half-amused and half-offended that she'd managed to get him with such a simple trick. He stayed underwater for a few moments: blessedly cool and clear. She was still laughing when he came up for air, sputtering.

"You're pleased with yourself," grumbled Loki after he'd spit out the water in his mouth. It had a noxious flavor to it.

She only grinned in response.

"What is this taste?" he demanded.

At that she only laughed harder, a clear, soft sound. "That's the chlorine. It's a disinfectant," she added at his look of confusion.

"It's disgusting."

She spread her arms wide and leaned back so she was floating. Her voice drifted over to him. "It's the smell of my childhood."

He hoped his expression appropriately conveyed his distaste. "Do I wish to know what needs disinfecting?"

Jane pursed her lips, as if in thought. "Nope."

She was no longer really paying attention to him. Instead, her attention had been stolen – like it often was – by the stars she studied. She floated, the residual force of her movement taking her further from him. A plan formulated in his mind.

"Tell me," he began.

Her head barely tilted toward him, her face rapt. "What?"

"Tell me about your constellations."

"Again?" He heard her skepticism, born from years of suffering alone for her avid interest. They were all tales he'd heard before, in one form or another, many of which she'd relayed, shyly, on the roof of her lab at night.

"Again. Lady's choice," he offered generously, and she giggled, putting her hands behind her head.

Loki waited for her to choose a tale and begin. She selected Cygnus, the man transformed into a swan.

As she spoke, he almost regretted ducking underwater, where he could not hear her, to get his revenge. So enraptured was she that she wouldn't notice when he disappeared some yards away, darting underneath her dark form outlined by the moonlight. He paused, looking up at her – the substance in the water irritated his eyes – and then he seized his moment.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, yanking her down. From under the water he dimly heard her shout before she was submerged with him, struggling. She twisted in his arms before he brought them both to the surface, releasing her.

"That was just . . ." she gasped between coughs, kicking here in the deeper part of the pool to stay afloat. There was the hint of a smile, though, in the corners of her mouth as she bobbed.

"Turnabout? Fair play? Justice?" he offered.

She splashed some water at him in response.

"You're so going to have to make this up to me," she threatened. There was a raw quality to her voice.

"How do you suggest I do that?" While his words were as innocent as you please, one of his arms snaked around her and his hand brushed the knot holding her flimsy top together.

Jane's eyes widened, flashing in the dark. "You can _not_ be serious." She did not, however, pull away from him.

"Serious about what?" he murmured. "I'm amenable to suggestions."

"Loki!"

His fingers wandered down her spine, settling in the small of her back. "We're alone, aren't we? You did say we wouldn't be caught."

She wavered on the edge of indecision, just as she had at the edge of the pool.

"Just kissing," she said finally, firmly, and hauled herself up against him. Her body was a warm line all along his front. One of her legs drifted around his waist, holding herself in place, and her arms settled on his shoulders.

"As you wish," he said, his mouth hovering over hers. As always, he waited for her to move first.

She did, her arms tightening and one hand settling into his hair to tug, not so gentle in her haste. Her tongue flicked at his lower lip, seeking entrance, and he let her slip in with a quiet sigh.

Slowly enough that she wouldn't notice, he let them drift until her back was pressed to the wall. She arched in surprise at the touch of granite, letting out a small gasp that he swallowed, tipping her head back to kiss her harder. Both her legs wrapped around him, and she was at the perfect height that he could settle into the cradle of her hips and move half-hard against her. Only the slippery fabric separated them.

Loki braced himself against the wall. His movements were gentle, not urgent, but it wasn't long before she was gasping into his mouth, pushing her body against his in return in an insistent rhythm. He could feel her, soft and hot and quivering, and it would only be the work of a moment to pull their flimsy garments aside and push into her, take her here against the wall, listen to her soft cries build –

But he was to make it up to her, so instead with regret he pushed her higher up on the wall, holding up her body with his own. His teeth against her breast, even through the cloth, made her shudder and grasp at his shoulders. He made no effort to remove her top, kissing and licking and biting around it instead.

"Loki," she said, a whine in her voice.

He hummed a question.

Her breathing quick and shallow, Jane's fingers shook as she pulled the band up, over the stiff peak of her breast. His nose nudged the fabric out of the way, and she shivered, exposed. The fingers of his other hand slipped under the band and squeezed. As she threw her head back, her throat was lined with light.

"Excuse me!" said a very loud, authoritative voice.

It was coming from the other end of the pool. From a woman in a uniform.

Disoriented, Jane stared for a moment with glazed eyes, and then shrieked and toppled herself into the water.

* * *

Jane apologized profusely to the policewoman, who listened to her ramblings for ten minutes and decided not to charge them with anything, probably just so she wouldn't have to listen to Jane anymore. Loki murmured about not having his papers with him, and the officer's face scrunched up at the possibility of more paperwork.

"Look, just don't do it again. It's your warning. Like with car tickets."

"Most generous of you," he murmured. She shot him a suspicious look, but put away the pad she was holding.

Jane's rambles switched from groveling apologies to effusive thanks, and she dressed herself in record time. This time they exited through the front door, Jane's head hung in shame the whole way. The swimsuits were soaking through their clothes uncomfortably, but he still took some pleasure in leaning down and whispering in her ear, so that she pushed him away, "At least you succeeded in your aim to divert us. I, at least, am in a very good mood."

It turned out the officer wasn't above a bit of public humiliation in lieu of gaol. The next morning everyone at the diner had a good laugh at them, and the wary had look dropped – at least temporarily – from Isabela's face.


	3. Biting/Marking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "biting/marking." Not every chapter can be 3000 words, alas.

The bed was too small.

 _Everything_ here was too small, including Jane herself. But the bed was the most inconvenient. It forced one to get . . . creative.

So he was kneeling between her legs, having pulled her up against him, with little leverage or power. He clutched at her hips, but his urgency was not reciprocated; she had already reached completion and was lying back, red flushing her chest.

Every time he thrust she gasped a little and the crossed ankles tucked into the small of his back tightened, but her eyes drifted closed nonetheless. Her attention drifted.

He _hated_ it when her attention drifted from him.

Loki shifted, bracing himself with his hands beside her head. Laid out like this his feet dangled off the edge of the bed. But the movement was enough to reawaken her interest. She gave a soft "ah!" of surprise at his sudden nearness and the changed angle of his thrusts, and a sigh of appreciation when he left a few sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on the side of her throat, too far gone to care about technique. One of her hands curled into his hair and the other stroked down his back.

She rocked with him, urging him on in a soft voice as his cock sank into her again and again, hot and wet and surrounding him. The rhythm of his hips stuttered, erratic and needful. Behind the sounds of their harsh breathing, he might have heard her say his name.

His mind went blank and he pounded into her twice more. As he was seized by his climax, his teeth sank into the meat at the join of her shoulder and neck, his body shuddering and clenching. She might have shouted; he wasn't sure.

"Loki," he heard her say later. It might have been a minute, or an hour. She pushed at him and he pulled away immediately, slipping from her and to the side.

"What was that about?" Jane asked breathlessly, irate as she rubbed her shoulder. He could still see the indentations from his teeth. It would bruise, perhaps badly, and he found he liked the idea with a fierceness he had not expected.

"Nothing," said Loki. He brushed his finger along the marks in mildly sadistic curiosity, and she squirmed.

"Can't wear scarves during the summer," she muttered. No, she couldn't. If she went out, everyone would know where she had gotten the mark.

In her irritation, she elbowed him away, but the bed was not large enough to accommodate them both comfortably and separately. She could not forget him so easily.


End file.
